The Mission
by Sicily Andrew
Summary: Vincent: before, during and after his first mission
1. Chapter 1

The Mission

Chapter one - Before

My name is Vincent Keller. The voice told me. I woke up in a hospital bed; at least it felt like a hospital bed. That must have been some accident to end up tied to a bed in God knows where. Wait, the big question is who the hell was I?

When I first heard the disembodied voice piped through speakers, I ranted and raved, thrashing against the restraints demanding answers. Nothing. Finally, I gave up the struggle, exhausted, alone and still tied.

That first day, the voice was my only companion. At least he explained why the restraints, the reason I was still alive and why I no longer had a memory. A million questions were drumming in my head but I couldn't formulate one verbally, so just listened. He told me that I was in "boot camp" and would become a unique soldier working for the good guys. My task would be to carry out orders without question; the answers were above my pay grade. I would be working for a special op unit, although he never explained who they were. The restraints would come off as soon as I surrendered and accepted my mission.

When it became obvious that struggling wasn't going anywhere, I gave up. Here was a living voice; I listened with rapt attention hoping he would give me some answers to who I was. The memory loss wasn't from some freak accident; it was a drug induced "wipe" for my own welfare and for the good of the mission I was handpicked to accomplish. The drugs they injected me with made me powerful in new unimaginable ways. I was transformed and would have super senses. The voice called me a "beast" with animal senses that would take over. I would learn to control all of the newfound powers, including the beast. But the voice would not provide answers to my identity other than my name.

This sort of power wasn't known to most of the world, the research was top secret. If it were leaked, there were international cartels that would pay a fortune to own a beast. To keep the world and me safe, I must only listen to the voice of command, this voice, this operation. They provided me with this special power so they could command my missions. I was one of them, their lieutenant. They would save the world and I was their weapon. It was all bullshit, but they were brainwashing me with the aid of more drugs. I knew it but powerless against it.

Strangely while lying on the bed, I could conjure up all sorts of memories, just not mine. The more I tried to recall, to envision thoughts of friends, family, anything, the more my head pounded. The thoughts became more shadowy and obscure until there was nothing; not a word, not a conversation, not a boyhood memory. Yet, they felt so real, I wanted to hold onto them but they were like smoke, disappearing before they could be grasped. Nothing left but a roaring headache. Current events, music, the city, all was right there. It was like a road map, nothing personal, just streets with names, and history on a TV, not lived. I felt a sense of great loss but for what, I didn't know.

Finally, a real person appeared. A military type, about my age. Up until this guy entered my room, my interaction was with people in hazmat type gear and the voice. Christ, was I contagious? No, I didn't feel like a patient. No monitors, no dripping bags of meds, nothing but restraints. The hazmat folks always carried a gun with them. They removed restraints so I could eat, shower, and exercise, but at gunpoint. They injected me with drugs that coursed through my body like fire, leaving me panting and disoriented. Those suits were protecting their identity, not their health. The gun was to protect their health.

While I felt the need throbbing through my veins, I made no attempt to overpower them. Even though I somehow knew I could kill any one of them in a second, it would have been pointless. I was in a cell with no visible means of escape. Believe me I searched, using all of my senses to find the smallest mistake in the armored room. However, it was an impenetrable box. Clinical, antiseptic and escape proof.

So this guy showed up, untied me, meaning something important was about to happen. He was armed, but holstered. Maybe they realized that I wasn't going on a rampage. I had been there for weeks or longer, but had no way of keeping track so it could have been much longer. I was a model prisoner, or rather a soldier, after those initial violent outbursts. Over time, I understood there was no one out there waiting for me, there was only the voice. And now the military standing in front of me.

He introduced himself as Ron. He was a specialist working in covert operations and would train me in special ops. He would help me to understand and utilize my unique powers. I did feel powerful, but this wasn't only because of some new drug. While no memory emerged, I felt right at home with the heightened sense of smell, hearing and eyesight. Much more was just below the surface. It was churning inside me, like some great animal pacing in a cage. It was cunning, it was lethal, it was stealthy. It was lying in wait. This was second nature to me, part of my being, not a memory or a new power to learn.

How Ron knew I wouldn't kill him was beyond me. I was tempted, but to what end? There was nowhere to go, I didn't know anyone who could help me and this was obviously a maximum-security institution. I was the only inmate surrounded by an entire staff of professionals with weapons, electric fences and concertina wire. Since there was no escape, killing him would have brought a ton of hurt down on me. The thought of killing him didn't bother me nearly as much as the ramifications of doing the deed. Well, leave that to dwell on another time. Just like the hazmat team, his life was spared because it was the smart thing to do.

No physical training was needed. Incredibly, even being contained in a small cell day after day, I was in excellent, robust health and could spring into action with impossible speed. The training Ron gave was technical. When he handed me an assault rifle, it felt right at home. I could read satellite images, diagrams of buildings, disarm a bomb. A few days with Ron and I was up to speed. Ron said, "see ya" and was gone. My only human contact vanished with a salute and a good luck. I never saw him again.

At least it was no longer necessary for restraints. Suddenly, I was the honored guest. New clothes, shoes, haircut. I was given an address that would be my home and my base of operation. There I would be provided with a wardrobe, groceries, a bank account, secure satellite phone, a laptop computer and instructions for my missions.

I was free. But not. Whatever else, I was only an operative who had been thoroughly, successfully brainwashed by drugs and the voice. I could walk around the city, but had no free will. My life was linked to the voice on the phone. He dictated every move. When to sleep, where to travel, who to converse with, my life was programmed by him. I didn't even put up resistance. I just followed the orders as they were phoned to me. Questions were not to be asked. Just follow orders. I had no past and didn't anticipate a future. I loved no one and no one loved me, so there was nothing else, just the mission and the voice.

Honestly, that made life easier, no thinking, no memories, no remorse. The voice provided a great pad to retreat to, a houseboat. Not just a houseboat but one that suited my tastes perfectly. How could they have picked such an ideal place? Of course, they knew me "before." I wasn't just a random pulled off the street, I was handpicked. This place was spotless with simple furnishings; just about perfect. But nothing personal in the space. No clues here about who I may have been, no evidence of friendships or lovers. Never mind. No questions.

The mission was laid out before me. I was to kill the mastermind of an organization that wanted to rule the world by making beasts to sell to the highest bidder. Killing the head of the organization would prevent chaos, murder and more beasts. I didn't question the killing of some CEO I never heard of, it didn't bother me one bit. Maybe it should have, and maybe it would have in my former life, but that is why my memories were wiped. No grappling with conscience. I didn't have one. I was coolly and logically laying out my plans to kill. I knew about beasts and the havoc they caused. That would be my excuse if I had a fleeting concern about killing, but that wasn't an issue.

After all, I am a beast, even without memories. So yes, saving the world from the likes of a beast like me, or rather the beast I was before training, was noble, not murder.

While in their facility they tested me over and over. They used innovative methods to train me to control my beast. At first, when they showed up and applied their torture, I lost all control. My beast would claw at the walls, snap, snarl, and howl to the heavens. However, they taught me to control my beast side. They ramped up the pain to produce the beast, wouldn't stop until I came back to normal. I learned damned quick how to control my beast side. I learned how to endure unbearable pain. Another gift from the good guys.

It also made me understand that beasts were deadly and must be eliminated. What better way than to kill the man responsible for making them. Yeah, I was on board with this mission.


	2. Chapter 2

The Mission

Chapter 2 the operation, the first day

The houseboat was now home. Rather empty and quiet but outside there was a clamor of sounds peculiar to marinas. The gentle lapping of water against pilings, the rattle of motors as boats headed out or in, the shrill calling of sea gulls. The marina was alive with activity so I wasn't completely isolated.

Strategizing the mission absorbed most of my days. In order to lure the target from his lair, I had to understand everything about him. An international businessman, dealer in espionage, and a danger to our country. His legitimate business was easy to locate, import export usually required a warehouse near the docks.

The voice, my handler, told me that Zhao had been searching for me for years but was very secretive and remained virtually invisible. My mission was to ferret him out of his hiding place and assassinate him.

If not for the mission to focus on I may have begun speculating on my past and what the future would bring. Looking forward was almost as dismal as the look back. There was nothing to remember and now I discovered there was no future, just my handler. He was my superior, and I was a subordinate. My existence had been day by day without expectations. Now he gave me something to sink my teeth into.

The mission was pumping lifeblood into me. The preparation was making me vibrate with anticipation. Missions would be my life and destined to be my only future. I relished the amount of planning that was required. A mistake could kill me so I concentrated on every detail; every potential pitfall and several escape routes if necessary. When I had calculated every possible scenario, I was ready.

I concocted a cover story that I was looking to buy my way out of the country, no questions asked. I was seeking passage on a freighter headed for Hong Kong or Beijing. My story was that I was on the down low to avoid capture by a guy who wanted to kill me. Then I would have to let Zhao's name slip.

No weapons were provided, I was on my own. No sweat, I knew my own power, relied on it and my animal cunning to keep me alive.

The first part of the mission went off without a hitch. As soon as the dockworkers heard me say the name Zhao, they overpowered and dragged me to an old warehouse. I was held at gunpoint until a few more heavies showed up. They were a more polished than the dockworkers. Suits, ties, and automatic weapons. They had a pair of fancy handcuffs and I was cuffed to a chair in a few swift moves.

We all waited for Zhao. It was important to keep my cover so didn't move a muscle. Little did they suspect that I was the predator waiting for my prey. There he was, but still didn't look up, I was playing my part. Man, he was proud of himself, cocky little bastard. He strutted around like a peacock flaunting his status as the head of the organization that "made me" It pissed me off to think this pompous ass turned my life into chaos. Suddenly he turned all business and one of his henchmen pulled a syringe ready to make me into a beast he could sell on the open market. Son of a bitch, I was ready to kill. For just a fleeting breath of a second, I felt a tug of remorse at the thought of killing. Where the hell did that come from? Gone as swiftly as it came, replaced by the righteous anger then murderous rage.

How easily the special handcuffs disintegrated when I let the beast loose. First two, then three of the henchmen went down, dead. Their weapons were no match for my speed. While dispatching them, Zhao took off on foot. Stupid move on his part, I had him in my sights and he would be dead in another ten seconds.

"Vincent!" What the hell? A female voice called my name. Oh shit, I was powerless. Stopped dead in my tracks, frozen to the spot. I turned toward the sound. My mission was getting away, but I couldn't move. In the distance, a small scrap of a woman was holding me rooted to the ground. This was not good. Zhao escaping due to one unplanned scenario. Who would have thought that a woman would have hidden in this dank, dark warehouse. She was an unimagined impediment. I would get to the bottom of this and be rid of a nuisance that I hadn't anticipated. All my tactical planning meant nothing. Was she Zhao's woman? Had she been there all along? I hadn't sensed her earlier. She didn't have the scent of Zhao on her, so who the hell was she and how did she fit in? She was clean and fresh and her hair shined in the shaft of sunlight that slanted through the high windows. I must have lost all of my powers of perception, I swore she didn't belong with them. However, I would soon find out. If she were one of them, she would join them shortly, lifeless on the cement floor.

Fast as lightening, I was after her. She didn't waver, but held her ground even though I was snarling, ready to leap and rip the life out of her. Damn, there were more of them. I didn't see that coming. Maybe she was with Zhao after all. She had two of her own henchmen with her. They had a tranq gun and weren't afraid to use it. Well, too bad boys, you better be prepared to die. The second dart was slowing me down. The first one must have too because I thought I was moving quickly but obviously not fast enough. I tried to get behind them, but damn if the third dart didn't put me flat out.

The woman ran up to me and held my head. Her hands were gentle on my face, so maybe she didn't want to kill or inject me. Her heart was beating fast but true, I felt it to my core. She said my name again, gently this time and told me she never stopped looking for me. I could barely grasp the words; I was losing consciousness, but had to find out "who are you?"

I woke up in a cavernous room over filled with furniture, junk, computers and three people; my captors. One of them left, he wasn't in the woman's good graces. Her posture told me she didn't' trust him. She was glad he was gone. The woman approached and sat next to me. She asked if I remembered her. "Cat" she said, nothing. "Catherine" That name reverberated throughout my entire body. Just the name. I didn't know this woman but undeniably, her name meant something important to me. I told her I didn't remember her. That was the truth. I could feel her confusion and her pain but nothing I could do about it. I didn't trust her or any of them. She was at the warehouse, she disrupted my mission, her partners tranqed and kidnapped me. However, if these two were on Zhao's payroll, they weren't the deadliest of the henchmen. I didn't sense danger. Even as the thought of murdering them ran through my head, I dropped it. For some unfathomable reason, I didn't want to kill either of them. I rationalized that if they were part of the mission, which seemed likely, I needed more information instead of just breaking their necks.

As it turned out the woman, Catherine left first. I listened to the other man, JT, as he droned on and on about experiences we both shared. I tried telling him I had no idea what he was talking about. He kept up a litany of facts strewn over almost 30 years, blathering about college and med school, and then threw in doses of psychology about amnesia. It wasn't making much sense but I treated the situation like reconnaissance. I wandered around noting everything. But nothing in the entire room seemed treacherous. It was odd for living quarters with a bank vault complete with safe deposit boxes, and huge bar that could have served 50 people. However, definitely not headquarters for a deadly group of terrorists.

When he finally took a breath, I just couldn't resist asking about this Catherine. No matter how I tried to dismiss her from my mind, she was wedged there. I should have known better than to ask. I didn't need to hear what this JT fellow had to say. But he assailed me with exactly what I was afraid of. She and I did have a past and a present. This woman had been part of my life. She had cared for me and I for her. Then maybe it was true, she was searching for me, not to disrupt the mission but because I had disappeared from her life. But doubts kept me rational. Be suspicious, my subconscious warned. But then, unbidden, a spark of warmth was seeping into my soul, unwanted, and unexpected.

A phone call and the code name "Condor" brought me back to earth. Thank God for that! Had to forget this woman. After all, these people, JT and Catherine, may have ulterior motives. Even though they felt genuine, I clung to that possibility. I couldn't dwell on her and what our life had been. I needed to contact my handler, refocus, and complete my mission.

All the way back to the boat, she kept invading my thoughts. She was distressed. While finding me, as shocking as that must have been, could have explained her anxiety, I sensed there was more. Was it because she was working for Zhao or was there some other inner turmoil? I wanted to understand it. Although I had no clue who she was, it felt imperative that I should know her. And damn, I hated to admit it; I longed to soothe away the troubles that lurked just below the tenderness in her eyes. Those eyes made me ache to remember her, touch her, and protect her.

That in itself brought about a new dread. I was totally at peace with who I was, the soldier, the sniper, the one handpicked for missions. A man with no past and no foreseeable future. It was a laboriously created facade. I didn't want or need anything to upset that applecart.

The call to my handler didn't help in giving me answers. "Condor" He was evasive and patronizing. He ordered, "Forget Catherine Chandler." Easier said than done. "Didn't you realize you had a life before this assignment?" Yes of course, but I didn't expect to smack right into it. Then he said "You are on a mission, soldier." "Find Zhao and eliminate him." It was the trigger that forced every other thought to disintegrate except the operation. I was back on point. This is what I knew; this was what I trained for. "Understood Sir"


	3. Chapter 3

The Mission

Chapter 3 - The Operation - the second day.

Okay, so a little inconvenience prevented me from completing the mission. From his tone, I would say my handler was extremely pissed about it. She messed up the entire operation and blew it to hell. My quarry got away while I was caught like a fly in ointment.

Yeah, there was no denying it, this pesky woman intrigued me. Unfortunately, she would have to wait while I reevaluated my tactics. I was on mission which left no room for a wondering mind. Losing focus could be deadly.

Back to square one, the warehouse where it all began. It still reeked of Zhao and his Cuban cigar, the fancy Masserati and the motorcycle escort. They had a few hours head start but his scent lay heavy in the air. I would have to hurry before he eluded capture by holing up in some fortress or leaving the country. He was easy to follow because of his penchant for those cigars. He was cut during the scuffle yesterday, not badly but enough to draw blood, another scent that made it simple to stay on him.

Hurried or not, it took hours on foot to track him. It wasn't difficult, just time consuming. I had to gather and discard thousands of outside irritants, perfumes, food carts, diesel buses. And there was an eerie sensation that I couldn't shake off. I was the hunter, yet it felt like I was being hunted. That prickly, back of the neck sensation of being followed. I finally stopped tracking for a moment just to satisfy my suspicion. There! I heard a familiar heartbeat as if the volume had been turned up. Other sounds receded. For all the people on the street and all the traffic noises, that one heartbeat pounded in my ears. She was back there somewhere.

She had to be part of the mission in some fashion. She didn't feel dangerous, but she had a part in this. This wasn't coincidence. What was the old movie line? "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine" That was exactly how it felt. She being behind me was no accident. However, I couldn't dwell on it. First Zhao, then her.

I caught up with him as he raced the elevator to the top floor with me at his heels. The point of eliminating Zhao was to put an end to beast making. Might as well take out the labs, files, and research while I was at it.

There is pure ecstasy when unleashing the raw power of the beast. Afterward there may guilt and shame but the adrenaline rush is magnificent when it is happening. I plundered through the labs throwing tables, chairs, and tanks of chemicals across the room. With one swipe, computers, keyboards, printers went soaring, sprayed with multiple colors as liquid vials flew after them. This was bliss; no control, no thought, no concern about repercussions, just pure rage. It felt wonderful. For the moment I was free of the confines of society, my body and mind in total unanimity. It didn't worry me that smoke was thickening or that flames may engulf the area. There was Zhao and I was eager to kill him. I unleashed the blood lust, base and carnal. I uncurled my fist to strike a lethal blow to his carotid artery when a small voice broke through the red haze of fury.

"Vincent" she called, "Vincent where are you?" She was in distress. Her voice was weak. Rage gave way to apprehension. The hell with Zhao, she needed me. This woman, whose very name turned me inside out, was in trouble. This little nuisance that I couldn't resist. I rushed through the destroyed offices, following the echo of her voice. An unexpected thought rippled through me. Even the beast felt it. If something harmed her, it would probably kill me too. I moved faster. I found her crumpled on the floor, gasping for air. As I bent over her, she unquestioningly wrapped her arms around my neck.

We didn't have a second to spare. I lifted her, held her close, cradled her face against my chest, as we lunged through the glass window into the open air. The entire floor exploded behind us. Yet, we plunged unharmed to the pavement below. She must have had complete faith that I would save her life because she was not afraid. She didn't mind that we were freefalling through space or that I was a snarling beast with fangs and claws.

It felt incredible. Saving her life was right and good and decent. The murderous beast disappeared, replaced by a man who was staring down into the smiling face of a beautiful woman. There was that warmth again. I whispered her name to myself "Catherine" and felt it seep to my bones. I could have stood for an eternity just gazing into her face, etching it forever as a new beloved memory.

The extreme transformation from a killing beast five minutes earlier to a man who saved a life was mind-boggling. Training and the mission encouraged, no demanded, the use of the beast. I had no reservations about releasing it to kill. Yet here I was, as a beast, choosing to save a life instead.

The polar opposite from a raging killer to coolly collected lifesaver was unimaginable and if I thought about what just happened, it would no doubt drive me crazy, if it hadn't already. However, I had to admit that it felt admirable to save a life rather than to take one, beast or not. Since when? Tonight of course. Since this moment. Because of saving this life.

Catherine; her luminous eyes were full of trust as she looked up at me. Saving lives certainly had its perks. If she continued to look at me in that way, I would save the world for her.

Would she be nearly so trusting of the beast who enjoyed killing? Yet she saw that side too and didn't recoil. She was an amazing woman, courageous, strong willed, beautiful and for the moment, in my arms.

She insisted that I accompany her home. She sat before me and told me she did know my beast side, she even noted some changes. She treated my slight wound while she promised we would fall in love again. She wouldn't have much convincing to do there. But my training was starting to intrude. I shouldn't be here. My mission wasn't accomplished and I didn't have much time to get it done. Zhao was probably arranging to slither out of the country.

I should have left her at the door. It was a mistake to stay with her. She again interrupted my mission and disrupted my thoughts. But, as much as I wanted to jump up and leave, she held me with her gentle ministrations.

No matter what, I couldn't blame Catherine for the aborted mission. I could have completed the assignment and left her to die with the others. As soon as that thought entered, I dismissed it as absurd. Right, I could see that happening. So far, I allowed her to tranq and kidnap me, follow me and cause my mission to fail twice, yet there was no malice toward her. Instead, I held her in my arms as we flew out of a window. Now she was speaking of love and how we were meant to be. I just let her talk. Her words wafted gently through the air straight to my heart.

Then she started asking questions. Specific questions about the mission. It was top secret; I didn't even know some of classified material or even who my handler was. There was nothing I could tell Catherine. It was drilled into me from the first day I accepted my situation back at the detention center. No questions! If someone gets too close, they must be eliminated. If they even guessed at the purpose of the missions, they would be dealt with. That I remembered. During those early training sessions when I was programmed into submission, the regulations were drilled into me repeatedly. No questions, no fraternizing, no friendships, always be on guard and suspicious, work alone.

She touched that nerve. My training kicked in and my soldier was back. This was a top priority mission and I was the only one who could pull it off. This time, I stood up to leave. I was stronger once the training kicked in. I may be drawn to this woman but my training was the only thing that was indelible in my confused mind.

"I can't answer any questions, do you understand?" She said she did but the shake of her head belied her words. She didn't want me to go. she stepped close to me. "Please, I have lost so much, I can't lose you again." Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

There it was, the pain I had seen in her eyes the first time we met. This woman was wounded to her soul. If there was any way I could lift her burden, I would move heaven and earth to do so. How could I, a beast with no memory, a killer, a loner, help her? I could barely help myself. Yet she needed me. I couldn't leave her. I would figure out the mission later.

I reached for her and pulled her close to comfort her. "Please don't go." She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes and I was lost in them. Our kiss was one of discovery, hot, sweet, and slightly hesitant. This was where I belonged. She fit in my arms perfectly. Her heart and mine beat almost as one. She hadn't run from me, she trusted me and if what she said had any truth to it, we were in love once.

We stood together for a moment or two, but she was exhausted. I gently placed her on the bed, pulled a comforter over her, and lay down next to her. I stroked her hair while waiting for her to fall asleep. Her breathing slowed then deepened. She tucked her hands up under her cheek like a child. Her hair spilled over her face and I gently brushed it back so I could watch her. Her long dark lashes, pert little nose, those high cheekbones. She was so beautiful it was inconceivable to think she sought after me.

It could kill her though. " Forget Catherine Chandler." Those words took on an ominous meaning. Was I being self-serving to want her so badly? Probably. I would have to think on this more. She seemed to need me for some unknown reason but what if my being near her put her in danger? What if she was somehow innocently wrapped up in the mission? Could I protect her from an unseen and unknown enemy? Wait, stop right there. These were traitorous thoughts. My handler was not an enemy, he was my commanding officer. I was the danger, not him. Training, remember my training. Forget Catherine Chandler.

There was a mission to complete tonight. Quietly, I rose and left my sleeping beauty.


	4. Chapter 4

The Mission

Chapter 4 - Into the void

Mission Accomplished. Satisfying words to a soldier. The blood pumping anticipation, the strategies, the final hunting of prey. Like a panther, I was silent and deadly. I followed my instincts and carried out my orders with deadly precision. Every mission ended the same, elimination of a dangerous target. Then why wasn't I basking in the aftermath? Why did I feel empty?

What happens when the missions are over? Will they be over? Would I continue to assassinate on command until they got the better of me, and I ended up dead or an old pathetic drunk somewhere? After saving Catherine's life that first night, each time a mission was successful, a small chink would penetrate my armor. I was starting to feel.

So here I was pacing around my cave, the houseboat. I paced and fretted about what I had done and what future missions would bring. I couldn't clear this with Condor; he didn't need to know my inner turmoil. A soldier shouldn't be questioning his commanding officer.

This frustration was because of her. Catherine, my forbidden pleasure. I was a soldier, entrusted to carry out critical secret missions. She was an intrusion, was always lurking in the back of my mind. Sometimes her voice, a look, or a smile would burst through to touch my soul.

She was an enigma. Confident, impetuous, curious, demanding, at times hesitant and unsure, a pain in the ass, and smokin' hot. She had interrupted every one of my missions. Several times she was in danger so I learned to include her possible appearance into each tactical plan. I looked over my shoulder whenever I was out on reconnaissance. She was there somewhere, either in the flesh or in my thoughts. I just worked around it. She insisted that I needed her protection, her help. I reminded her time after time that I worked alone and couldn't divulge my secret missions. She wheedled, followed, and demanded. She wormed her way into my heart.

She wanted me to remember her. She wanted me to tell her about my missions and she wanted to know who my handler was. It was impossible to comply with her demands. Still, I sought her out. There was a deep-seated need to be with her, even though I didn't remember her and definitely couldn't answer her questions.

There was no danger of me leaking classified information; it was beyond my capability to tell Catherine anything. The training was too deeply imbedded. It was a wall as thick as cinder block preventing any discussion. She would get impatient. She didn't understand that secrecy was paramount to successful missions. She insisted that we had always trusted each other.

She found my houseboat, so it was no longer a safehouse. Now it pulsed with the possibility of this beautiful woman dropping by without warning. Actually, she didn't find the houseboat; I forcibly took her there when she was tailing me during one of the early missions. I tried to be abrasive and severe, let her think I was dangerous. But that didn't last long. She was safely tied up, out of the way but I couldn't concentrate on completing the mission. Her heartbeat drew me to her.

Before I knew it, I was seated next to her, she was untied and she was drawing me out. She asked about the memory wipe. She moved close. "Do you remember me?" Then she kissed me. "No." I put my arms around her. She kissed me again. "Now?" I shook my head. It was all I could manage. I pulled her even closer. We kissed again, more intensely. This had nothing to do with memories. It was the present, the hot sensual present. My heart started racing until it matched hers. This did not require memories. She wanted me and I wanted her desperately.

Later, the mission intervened. It was all I could do to leave her; she looked so soft and appealing.

She followed me, but she was safe and out of harms way. I completed my mission without compunction. This time, another life was saved because the target was going to kill a young woman. He didn't get the chance. It wasn't until much later that I questioned my mission along with everything else.

Catherine had seen the entire maneuver. While she approved of the life saving, she was not thrilled about the rest. She was convinced I was owned and manipulated. She wanted me to tell her who it was. That accusation burned so hot, I exploded. She was too close to a truth I couldn't accept. She wanted me to trust her implicitly, but in reality, I didn't actually know her. I could never trust her with the missions because of the memory block, but she was forcing me to see things I didn't want to see. My instinct took over and I lost control for the first time since the early days. My reaction was swift and unwarranted; I shoved her. She was propelled backwards and fell hard. Oh Jesus, what had I done?

Through Catherine, I was building memories one at a time. All of the good ones were because of her. The rest were dark, bloody, and oppressive. This beastly assassin was all that I was until Catherine crashed into my life. I discovered a desire to tame my beast side because of her. Often she would scold, question motives, or condemn. But even when she was snappish, I accepted it without hostility. She seldom made me angry; instead, I became sympathetic to her inner struggles. It was her indomitable spirit that drew me to her. She survived a history that could have destroyed her, but was more courageous because of it. She had not been afraid of me at all, insisting I would never hurt her. She could say things that should have wounded but because she trusted me, she could voice them. I understood and tolerated those remarks as my way of providing solace to her. Empathy was helping me find my way back to humanity.

She told me about her parents, how both had been murdered. Her mother was shot in front of her. Her father died from complications due to a hit and run accident that also occurred before her eyes. She told me that because of me saving her life all those years ago everyone thought she was delusional, suffering from PTSD. When she finally found me she found peace for the first time, then I was taken from her too.

No wonder I had seen pain in her eyes. No wonder she barricaded herself and sometimes lashed out to protect herself. She trusted me enough to share her burden. Now I shattered that trust and effectively destroyed all that was good in my life.

There was no way around it. I did the unforgivable. I hurt her and could have killed her. I should have left as soon as she started asking questions. It was a mistake to stay. It was right after the mission so the animal lust was still seething just below the surface. I could feel it leap to life as soon as she said those ominous words, "Does someone own you?" I pushed her away hard, just as she reached for me. Using my last shred of control so not to leap onto her, I backed away. So much for my return to humanity. As she lay sprawled on the floor, she looked up at me with sheer anguish, tinged with fear and doubt.

After seeing the accusation in her eyes, I bolted, telling myself that by all that was holy, I would never see her again; I would never hurt her again.

It would be almost a death sentence for me since she was becoming my entire reason for living. After all, before her, I was an empty, brainwashed, amnesiac. Yes, brainwashed. Training was what I had told myself, but I was beginning to realize it wasn't training at all.

But rather leave her forever than to see the look of fear or worse, facing the fact that I had the ability to harm her.

Now I was pacing back and forth, my life in chaos. A beast raging inside brought to life by a voice I was suddenly questioning. Every time I thought of Condor, I became agitated. The fog of brainwashing was starting to deteriorate making me jumpy. All my realities were disintegrating. Something about him was menacing. There were ulterior motives here, not world saving ideology.

This was one hell of a way to live. There were slivers of memories demanding recognition. Missions, murder, suspicious motivations warring with poignant memories of lost loved ones, friendships, and memories of Catherine.

I had to find myself and then I would heal myself. Not the soldier, not the brainwashed assassin used to carry out devious plots, not the violent beast. I would find the real man. Was there any decency in me, had I ever been upright and principled? There was only one person who hadn't been harmed by me yet, the man who said he had known me for a lifetime. The one who, if I didn't scare him to death, may be able to answer that question, JT Forbes.

.


	5. Chapter 5

The Mission

Chapter 5 - The way back

Until now, I didn't want to associate with JT. I didn't remember him so never sought out his advice or friendship. Actually, I was avoiding him. He had prattled on and an on about our friendship "before." He didn't want to settle for my lack of interest or memory. Moreover, the man had a PhD that included a psychology background. He might have uncovered some disturbing facts that could affect my missions.

After what happened the other night, all that changed. I needed someone to help me discover if I was more than the monster I saw reflected in Catherine's eyes. JT stood by me all those years so hoped it wouldn't be too hard to convince him to let me in.

He didn't seem all that pleased to see me. He was actually somewhat suspicious and wary. With no preamble, I told him that I was seeking him out to help restore my memories. After a moment's hesitation, he seemed okay with that.

It had been a good idea to bring beer. He sat me down, twisted off the cap of a fresh brew. "My friend" he said, "We have known each other for a long time." "Let me tell you who you really are." Had I been good friend, a decent person? Was I redeemable? "You were all that and more from the time you were a little kid." A few empties later, and he was ready to talk. I didn't interrupt or hasten the story along.

JT was born a geek. He was the unplanned only child of middle-aged academic parents. They loved him dearly but in a distracted way. They were more comfortable doing research, not child rearing. What they had in intelligence, they lacked in practicality. Thankfully, JT was a quiet child, reserved, and studious. He inherited his parents' substantial intellect but was socially inept.

By the time he was in second grade, he was the perfect target for bullies. His feet grew at an alarming rate, so he wasn't athletic. He was the kid picked last to be on a team. If he tried to run, he often tripped over those feet. Belts wouldn't hold up his pants so he had to wear suspenders. His near sightedness required him to wear glasses, the kind that invites ridicule. Add the fact that he had bookish ways and made terrible choices about his wardrobe, he was the perfect victim.

So, at the end of every school day, JT tried to sneak away. This time, though, they cut off his escape route. Instead of confronting them, he ducked behind the school with a plan to hide near the maintenance entrance. There was a deep stair well leading to it, not readily seen by passersby.

He huffed around the corner and down the steps, falling headlong into me. I was sitting on the bottom step reading. JT swallowed hard. Everyone knew the Keller boys. William was the oldest, in sixth grade, Daniel was in fourth grade, and I was in second grade. JT was in my class but we never spoke much. He said I was the quietest of the Keller boys and didn't seek to be popular but pretty much was. My big brothers protected me when I wasn't.

JT smiled at the memory and said that even though I was the youngest, I looked scary, frowning, and irritated when I stood up and laid my book down. JT thought he was in for it, that he jumped into the stair well right into another bad situation.

"Those bullies after you?" JT nodded. I mounted the steps and waited. Three of them came around the corner at top speed, intent on catching up with the fat kid. It was almost funny how they came to a screeching halt crashing into each other.

"Hey Keller, " The leader tried to sound tough and smooth but he was darting looks around for William and Daniel. Then he noticed JT hiding behind me in the stairwell. "We want to talk to the fat boy," pointing toward JT. "And you expect to do what?" I asked. "Come on Vinnie, we just want to have some fun, we won't hurt him." "Get out of the way." Instead, JT reminisced, I took a deep breath and stood my ground.

Oh boy, it was three against one and no big brothers around. Against his better judgment, and knowing he would take a shellacking along with me, JT climbed the steps to stand next to me. We made a particularly odd-looking pair. Me, tall but thin, glowering, trying to look intimidating; JT, heavy, pasty, with big horned rimmed glasses and suspenders.

Nonetheless, we must have looked menacing because the bullies shuffled then sauntered off with "we'll catch him later, when you aren't around." JT and I stared at each other. Then I grinned at him. "Well, we took care of them, want to stay and read for a while?" JT felt like a hero. We spent the next hour reading and talking. More surprising to JT was that I didn't mind talking to him, the social outcast.

I could envision the scene, the cool dark cement steps slightly fuzzy with moss, JT, and me talking quietly. I must have liked to hide out where I could read undisturbed. Was it a memory? JT continued his story. We talked for what felt like hours. Eventually I asked him about his atrocious name "what's your middle name?" He told me, looking at me sadly. "Well that won't do either." I had heard them call this kid all kinds of hurtful names. "So, I was thinking I would use your middle name instead, but I don't think that is gonna work."

Finally, an inspiration! "I know, how about if we just use your initials?" "You will be JT Forbes!" "Sounds pretty important if you ask me." I was very proud of myself for coming up with the new name. JT rolled it around in his head for a while. Then he just shrugged, "Okay, it might work, can't get worse."

JT opened another beer and went on with his tale. He was dreading the next day at school anticipating that his tormenters would be out for even more blood because of the lack of satisfaction yesterday. He took a deep breath and came in through a side door. "Hey, JT Forbes, wait up" Daniel, William, and I marched shoulder to shoulder as we headed toward JT. My older brothers walked us to our classroom then disappeared down the hall. Everyone in class saw them, including the bullies. They just stared, openmouthed.

When class was over, JT's fear of reprisal returned. Whatever happened the day before and that morning would come at a high price. He regretted talking to me. He wished he had never met me. He was surely going to pay the price for the Keller brothers' intervention. His fear tuned out to be pointless. After class, we all met up and walked him home. Then we walked home together until the end of grade school. For the rest of their lives, JT said wistfully, "we were all brothers."

JT became an extension of the Keller family. It was a boisterous household with three boys running in and out with various friends. JT's own house was much too quiet so he made excuses to visit the Keller dinner table. At the Keller house there was laughter, energy, and great smells coming from the kitchen.

After being introduced, JT became another family member. A place was always set for him at the table along with the assortment of friends who flocked in with the brothers. The dinner table was time for conversation in which everyone took part. Even quiet, studious, JT became fluent at sharing and joking. The Keller's had a knack of listening to every person as if it was the most important conversation ever heard. It was not only endearing but also inspired confidence. The Keller household was witty and intelligent, loud, loving, teasing and loyal. Another vision came to me; a long dinner table, a flowery wallpapered room echoing with animated conversation.

JT told me that my family was always into public service with a long line of firefighters. Service to the community seemed to be the genetic makeup of the family. My older brothers, William and Daniel, knew they would be on a fire truck one day. They listened spell bound to the stories told by uncles and cousins about their adventures with the fire department.

But I didn't seem to have the same calling; He went on to tell me that I dreamed of becoming a doctor, a profession my parents encouraged. I loved helping people. I devoured medical books and rushed to bandage very neighborhood kid's scrapes.

Even though we were an odd duo, our friendship flourished. We could sit and absorb books on chemistry and biology that were well above our age level. We discussed our futures, medicine, biotech research, and much more. Those were the idyllic days of our youth. We were innocent, we had mutual interests, and we became inseparable.

We grew up and went our separate ways, but the September 11 tragedy, my enlisting, and the experiments brought us back together. He hid and protected me for almost ten years before I was kidnapped those months ago and turned into what I was now. JT heaved a deep sigh.

Every word of his story went straight to my heart. Even though I didn't exactly have memories, JT's oratory gave me insight and reminded me that I once had friendship and a family who raised me to be principled. My family had once been proud of me. A stab of sorrow hit me so hard it almost dropped me to my knees. If they were alive today, they could only look at me in horror.

Who did this? What a kind of evil mind would inflict such brutal irony. Why force me to become a complete antipathy of my former self? No amount of futile rage or self contempt would provide answers. So I forced myself not to wallow in self pity. Instead I must be constructive and decisive.

Finally I could see a glimmer of hope. It might be too late for me, but if I could find who was behind experiments, I could prevent others from becoming like me. If I could discover who my handler was and his employer, maybe I could stop them. Instead of killing beasts, I could prevent them from being made. That sounded more gratifying than murder. That was who I wanted to be.

I swore that I would never again ignore JT. He was a true friend who I could rely on and I silently pledged that from that day forward, he could rely on me. I suddenly felt human and it felt good. That gave me the strength to face the brainwashing, the amnesia, and the incapability of ignoring a command. I would fight with all my being to overcome the experiments. I would prove that I had a human side that I wanted to remember and value. Maybe then I could earn Catherine's love.

My spirits lifted. With a smile I handed JT the last beer.


End file.
